


ribbons fray

by againstmygreeleaf



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, POV Second Person, Rebirth Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11751621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/againstmygreeleaf/pseuds/againstmygreeleaf
Summary: There is an intense sunburst of heat that crashes over you suddenly and fades out, taking your humanity with it. The final thing you think before you become a true monster is,'I'm really all alone.'





	ribbons fray

**Author's Note:**

> Short piece on Candeloro. Guess I was interested in experimenting with a witch's POV? This was another, older fic on my dA that I cleaned just slightly and posted here. I'm trying to neaten my dA, I guess. Keep it mainly for my OCs and have more fan works centered, well, here. Lol.

You're about to die, you think.  
  
You've been fighting and fighting, and now there's darkness swallowing up the mystic gold in your soul. There's only a faint shimmer of it left, a candle of hope in a black miasma.  
  
You should cleanse it, scrub it shiny with another kill, but you're tired. You're so tired. You're…done now. Yes, you're done now. You cup the gem apologetically in your clammy hands, trying to comfort it and seek comfort in turn.  
  
Your resolve has been beaten out of you in between dimensions, in sinisterly whimsical places of scrap-booking puke and caramel-dipped despair.  
  
You're about to die, you think.  
  
It used to feel warm in your palms, like an egg fresh out of the hen. Now it feels cold and dead, and the dark is creeping up into that last flicker of gold.  
  
There is but a molecule of fight left in you, a mere husk of will left that wants to protect it, that whispers, _don't do this, don't succumb._  
  
(is that _her_ voice?)  
  
But you've cheated death once, given it the runaround and spoon fed yourself survivor's guilt in its shadow. There is relief in giving up, relief in acceptance of a fate you shouldn't have tried to battle on a bed of all your failures.  
  
You're about to die, you think.  
  
You're only half-right. Your nature is dying, you the person is dying, but you as a concept is doing something entirely different. You're being eclipsed by your weakness, you're mutating into what you've been fighting to protect everyone from.  
  
This is the true price of a miracle.  
  
This is your despair.  
  
You're about to—  
  
For just a heartbeat, reality floats. There is an intense sunburst of heat that crashes over you suddenly and fades out, taking your humanity with it. The final thing you think before you become a true monster is,  
  
_I'm really all alone._                                                                                          

* * *

'Rebirth' generally implies optimism, a ray of phoenix's light to breathe life into ashes. But there is only darkness as your despair takes control, completely crumbling anything you were aside from it to dust and reshaping the wretched remains into a horrific, malformed creature.  
  
You do not think now, not truly. You register things abstractly. You do not have the cognition you had as a human, you do not remember that you were human at all, or that you had a name, or a life, or that you lost those you cared about and unwittingly brought this on yourself by way of an alien's promise.  
  
All you know is encompassing, crushing loneliness. You do not know why you are lonely, only that you are.  
  
Your barrier unfurls itself around you, coloring the parched antimatter in vivid rainbow bridges and pretty china plates, cozy clubhouses and trees ripe with plump red apples, and tea cups, tea cups, tea cups.  
  
Tea cups for tea parties because you're so, so, so painfully lonely and you're inviting anyone and everyone to come to your party so you can have some company.  
  
The tea will never run out, not ever. As long as the tea never runs out, the party never has to end. You'll get to play dress-up, munch on tarts, and drink black tea for infinity.  
  
You have your familiars to help you. They look like girls the human you knew, they resemble names you'll never remember, dragged up from the archaic text of the closed book that was once your life.  
  
You sense this on some level, feel that your familiars are familiar and that they are pieces of you for a reason.  
  
But you are incapable of remembering why, and who, and what, so all you can do is emit mournful cries and wait for the guests to show  up to your party with your kisses branded on their throats.


End file.
